Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series (2 page)

Chapter 3

Lisa:

I would have normally looked around the house in professional curiosity; but right then, I was too on fire with need; I craved the feel of him against me, and I shamelessly launched myself into his arms, pulling his head down in order to kiss him.

It had been six long months, and the feel of his length against me was so intoxicating; I was drowning in sheer pleasure. I gripped his jacket with my hands, using them to keep him close to me, not that he was trying to pull away; he was kissing me back, and his lips were soft, his tongue was insistent, and he tasted faintly like vodka and salt from the dirty martini. Arousal smouldered in me, arousal reflected in his eyes as well.

“The bedroom is upstairs,” he said, pulling away for an instant, his voice hoarse with need. I didn’t try to speak; I wasn’t sure if I could form words at that point; I simply followed him.

Again, I would have normally looked around; but in that moment, all I noticed of his bedroom was that his bed was large, and that it was neatly made. He put his hands around my waist, drawing me closer, pulling me into his body again, and I reached up and kissed him. Little waves of arousal started to threaten to overflow; my pussy was moist with need; had been moist for hours now, ever since his eyes first met mine at the lounge. Right now, I just wanted to feel his hard length in my pussy; feel him thrust into my body.

But he pulled away from me, took a deep breath. “Let me know at any time if you want this to stop,” he said quietly. Then he looked at me again, and there was cool determination in his eyes; he was transformed instantly into someone steelier, more controlled, much more intimidating.

“Naughty girls get punished, Lisa,” he said, his voice level. He hadn’t bothered raising it. I felt my pussy cream even more as I responded to the look in his eyes; to the tone of his voice.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, my voice soft and submissive. Oh, but he got the message that I wanted to be spanked loud and clear, and he was playing along with my fantasies. Under my dress, my nipples hardened.

“You will refer to me as Dr. Anderson,” he snapped, but his eyes were twinkling now, and his lips twitched.

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I mumbled.

“Very good, Lisa,” he said, his voice approving. “Take off your dress please, and come lie down on my lap.”

He had taken off his jacket downstairs; he was wearing a white shirt, some kind of muted blue tie, and dress pants. There was deliberation in his gaze as he looked at me, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, rolling his sleeves back. I gulped, a little nervously. He was clearly preparing to spank my ass, and I didn’t know him at all.

He positioned himself on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and patted his lap. His lap, where his hard erection was clearly visible through his pants. I reached behind to lower the zipper on my dress; let it fall in a pool to the floor, stepping out of it, towards Patrick.

When I was younger, I had excruciating acne. It was horrible. Most doctors prescribed drugs, but my hormones weren’t to be controlled. I spent most of my early teen years feeling so ugly I turned into a shadow of my normal self.

Then, my mother had taken me shopping, one glorious day when I turned fourteen. “I’ll tell you a little secret, Lisa,” she’d told me, leaning towards me conspiratorially, like we were allies against the world, which we were. “Here’s what we’ll do,” and she had taken me to a high-end department store, and we’d spent hundreds of dollars on pretty lingerie, lingerie that transformed me; that made me feel pretty deep down inside, even if my face was covered in blotches. Hundreds of dollars we didn’t even have, probably.

The acne went away soon enough, but she’d taught me something; I acted pretty when I felt pretty, and lingerie helped me feel pretty. And so, whether I was at a client site, or just in my sweats at home, I always made it a point to wear something sexy. It helped my attitude, and today, it had made me bold enough to send a stranger a drink, and then come home with him. Now, standing in front of him, wearing a black lace panties and a corset that cinched in my waist and raised my breasts so they looked like an offering to the man in front of me, I watched the heat rise in his eyes, and yet again sent my mother silent thanks for her help, so many years ago.

His eyes took me in admiringly; I could see his cock twitch as my body came into view. “Holy fuck, Lisa,” he said. “You are a vision. All I want to do is throw you down on my bed, and take you hard…”

“Don’t damage the lingerie,” I mock-joked. The corset alone had cost a small fortune. He laughed. “I promise, the lingerie will be safe,” he said, his lips twitching.  And then, I could see him strive for control; strive to put his desire on the back-burner, so he could satisfy mine.

He patted his lap again, back in role again. “Hurry it up, Lisa, I don’t have all night” he said, his voice cool; a vivid contrast to the heat in his eyes. I hurried it up; no point annoying the guy who was going to, in a few minutes, give me an over-the-knees spanking.

I moved forward on slightly shaky legs; draped myself over his lap. He made a small growl in his throat as my hips made contact with his lap, as his erection brushed against my body; and I grinned in glee; resolving to wriggle around during my ‘punishment’ as best I could.

“I think the punishment would be more effective,” he said easily, “if your hands were restrained…” He removed his tie, as I watched him from my position on his lap, my ass in the air, waiting and ready for its chastisement.

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I muttered.

He undid his tie, laced my hands behind my back; quickly bound them together with the tie. I tested my restraints. Surprisingly effective; I would have sworn up and down to all who would listen to me that Patrick wasn’t dominant, but he was certainly playing the role with conviction.

“I think, as gorgeous as these are, these need to come off,” he said, tracing his hands over my panties. He raised my hips slightly, rolling down my panties to my knees; effectively preventing me from kicking out too much during my spanking. I grinned in his lap; this was turning out to be quite an evening.

I could hear his intake of breath as my pussy came into view. He couldn’t see much of it, my thighs were held together by the panties at my knees, but he could see glimpses, and I could feel his cock twitch in response.

“Part your legs,” he said, his voice hoarse. I complied, as best I could. Those panties were expensive too.

He noticed what I was doing, and laughed. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Let’s get these off instead, shall we?”

He slid them down right to my ankles, and I kicked them away.

“Ok, panties safe and taken care of, let’s spread those legs, Lisa,” he said, his voice firm. My pussy was
creaming at his tone; I spread my legs wide; the one leg was against his flat stomach; but I stretched out the other wide.

“Good girl,” he said. I could feel his fingers at my pussy lips, and then, with no warning, he pushed two of his fingers inside of me. I arched off his lap at the intensity of the sensation; I moaned in utter abandon, as my body swirled with lust.

His other hand quickly made its way to my lower back, holding me still, as he pumped his fingers in and out of my pussy a few times. Every nerve ending in my pussy was on fire; my hands were clenched around his sheets as his fingers controlled me, and I moaned on his lap with longing.

He pulled his fingers out; pushed his fingers into my mouth. “Taste yourself,” he said, his voice harsh. I sucked on his fingers, closing my eyes, pretending it was his cock thrusting down my throat, pretended he was taking me for his pleasure, and his pleasure alone. I moaned again, as arousal spiralled through me.

Then the spanking started, and I had no room for thought anymore.

At first, he was gentle, the strokes falling evenly on my naked, exposed butt. He alternated cheeks, got a steady rhythm going, sliding his palm against my heated ass between the strokes. I was squirming around his lap, enjoying the feeling of his hand striking my skin; responding to the sound of his hand as it made contact; revelling in the heat that rose in my skin.

I felt myself push my ass into his hand; silently beg for more. I didn’t talk though – part of what made this erotic for me was the loss of control; I had described what I needed, but beyond that, I had no control. Either Patrick was going to get this right, or he wasn’t.

He was getting it very, very right.

As I got used to the sensation, the strokes became harder. His left hand curled around my body, holding me close to his; his right hand rained blows down on my body; spanking my ass, stroking my ass; alternating hard strokes with soft brushes, scraping the red, throbbing skin with his fingernails in a move that had me groaning with sheer lust at the pleasure-pain of it.

I could feel my ass redden; throb. He was making me jump and dance to his tune; the strokes were random, and I couldn’t tell where the next stroke was going to fall. I groaned; my pussy felt swollen and heavy, so sensitive, so much in need of his touch.

And then… a flick. A hard flick of my clit, an unexpected treat between the blows. I almost arched right off his lap in the sheer shock of it, and as his hand clamped down, pleasure flooded through me. That flick had me dance on the edge of pleasure-pain, and I wanted to dance there again.

I almost broke my rule; I almost begged. But I held firm. Patrick would determine what he did to me; I would not beg. If this was to be intensely erotic to me, I was only allowed to ask him to stop. I needed to cede control completely; my pleasure needed to be entirely in his hands.

Perhaps he sensed this, because his hand teased my pussy again, that swollen pussy that was dripping in need, but he didn’t flick my clit again, not just yet. Instead, he spanked, and now, the blows were hard, the cracks loud in the room, interspersed with my soft moans; and it was all I could do to stay quiet, to not beg for the feel of that flick on my pussy again.

I wanted so much to dance on that edge of pleasure-pain.

“Beg for it…” Patrick said, his voice level.

Holy crap, how did he know? How could he tell that I craved that flick; I craved that touch again; how could he know?

But he knew.

His hand was teasing my clitoris, soft rubs, nothing like the sharp edge of that flick, and I was so close to erupting in orgasm, but I needed that flick to send me over the edge. And he knew it, and he wouldn’t do it again, unless I begged.

I never begged. Except now.

“Patrick, please…” My voice was a moan of helpless longing.

“Please what, baby?” Damn him, he sounded amused. He was displaying flawless self-control.

“Please, do that thing again, that flick on my clitoris…” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I said that, and I was sure my face was the colour of my ass.

“Like this, baby?” His voice wasn’t amused this time, it was quiet. And then, he flicked it again, and again, and again once more, and every muscle in my body clenched tight, and I erupted in orgasm as he shoved three fingers, hard, into my soaked pussy. The world went black for an instant; I lost the ability to see and hear; I could only feel the tremors in my vagina as my swollen pussy clutched and milked his thrusting fingers.

He kept thrusting and flicking; he didn’t stop. I moaned as my swollen, sensitive clitoris responded to him yet again, to what he was doing to me.

“I can’t,” I moaned.

“I think you can, Lisa,” he said, his voice firm and unyielding. My pussy gushed in response. I could stop this anytime, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to do as I was told.

A pinch on my clitoris; short, sharp pain. I screamed in shock, and as the pain receded, pleasure came rushing in, and I erupted again in orgasm, shaking helplessly, clenching yet again against his fingers.

I just lay on his lap for a while. I needed a few seconds of recovery from the shattering release; it had been six months, and of course I’d masturbated in that time, but there was something very different about erupting in orgasm against a man’s hard body, with my hands tied behind my back.

I could feel his erection against my hip, and suddenly, I wanted to continue this moment; to kneel before this man and worship his cock.

Chapter 4

Patrick:

I’ve spanked women before, but none of them had ever felt like Lisa. This stranger from the bar who I didn’t know at all; she looked like the embodiment of sexual desire in her corset and her garter, and the visual of her black corset against her rapidly reddening ass was almost enough to make me blow my load right there.

Beyond the initial ask, she didn’t talk, she didn’t beg for me to go harder, or beg for me to stop. She took what I dished out, and her sopping wet pussy indicated she liked it.

And when she erupted in orgasm? Without a doubt, the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time. I needed to see that again, to feel her writhe against me, legs and body trembling in need. I needed to hear her beg me, to hear that voice, helpless and moaning.

She lay quietly on my lap after her orgasm; I traced the outline of her body with a hand, never removing the other from around her. I wanted to feel her body against mine; the desire was powerful and would not be denied.

“Patrick,” she said. Her voice was a purr of contentment; a sound that went straight to my groin. My cock twitched and jumped again. I needed to be inside her very quickly; my self-control would not last long.

“That’s Dr. Anderson to you, young lady,” I said, trying desperately to sound stern. I didn’t succeed; I couldn’t hold back the chuckle. She laughed, her laugh a warm sound in the quiet.

“Dr. Anderson,” she said, sounding just a little amused. “Please, may I suck your cock?”

***

Lisa:

I could spend hours talking about the tightness of his body, the beauty of his cock, how much I wanted to stop and stare when he took off his clothes. I didn’t; I slid down on the floor, got on my knees, took his cock in my mouth and worshipped it. I was still in my corset, my hands were still tied behind my back; Patrick would release me when he felt like it, and I wasn’t going to question him. 

“I’m not going to last long…” he warned me. Fair enough; I’d been grinding on his lap for the last thirty minutes, at least.

I redoubled my efforts; my tongue stroking the sensitive underside of his cock; my mouth enveloping his hard length in my warmth. I moved my lips up and down his shaft, pushing him steadily down my throat, willing myself to take the entire length of him in my mouth.

I loved to deep-throat. I really, really did. There was something in the idea of a man taking my head in his hands, holding my hair back, and thrusting his cock down my throat with minimal regard for my comfort, fucking my face like I was just a receptacle for his pleasure; there was something in that imagery that turned me on so very much.

Perhaps that was evident; perhaps Patrick saw something in me that helped him realize, because he grabbed my hair in his hands, painfully tight. I looked into his eyes, slightly concerned, and he winked at me.

“Part of the game,” he said.

I played along.

He used my hair as a lever to hold my head, thrusting his cock down my throat. I didn’t control the pace anymore; he did.

Pleasure filled me, deep pleasure at the way this stranger was using me. I could feel my pussy clench in need again, but I couldn’t focus on it; instead, I focused on keeping my mouth slack and open, my teeth sheathed as his cock rammed into the back of my throat.

“I’m coming, baby,” he groaned. A warning, not a request. His cock twitched; he ejaculated with a groan, and his hot essence filled me, and I swallowed in pleasure. When he was done, I held his cock in my mouth, ran my tongue all over him.

My pussy was swollen again, arousal had built in me while he was holding my hair in his hands, pushing his cock down my throat.

***

Patrick:

Gods, she was amazing.

Once I untied her hands, she got to her feet, stretched out in pleasure. She was gorgeous; comfortable in her nakedness, at ease with herself. I moved over on the bed, she lay next to me, both of us on our backs, close to each other, but not touching.

In the bar, her dress hinted at the lushness of her body. Here, in my bed, wriggling on my lap, clenched against my fingers, she had been all woman. She was a peach; firm yet soft, juicy and oh-so-tasty, and just thinking about the way my cock had slid down her throat made me hard all over again for her.

To distract myself, at least momentarily, from reaching for her again, from sinking my cock into that pussy, I turned towards her.

“So, you like being spanked…”

She blushed, beet-red. “
Mmm,” she mumbled. I grinned; she looked adorable when she was embarrassed.

“What else?” I asked, with a bit of curiosity.

“What other fantasies, you mean?” she looked at me, a speculative smile on her face. She was such a contradiction; one moment, she was blushing like a little girl; the next moment, looking into my eyes with straightforwardness, about to tell me what turned her on in bed. I nodded.

“Well…” she said hesitantly, “there is one that you could probably help me with, but it’s pretty embarrassing…” Her cheeks were flushed, but she kept her eyes on my face.

“Try me,” I said evenly. “I’m not easily embarrassed.”

“You’ll probably be shocked,” she muttered.

“Try me,” I said again.

“Ok…” she said, and her cheeks were beet red again. “My favourite fantasy is that a doctor is giving me a very through medical exam…”

I raised my eyebrows, intrigued. “A naughty doctor’s appointment?”

She nodded. To her credit, she hadn’t looked away; she’d maintained eye contact.

“Tell me more…” I said.

She started talking.

***

Lisa:

I couldn’t believe I had just told him that. I really couldn’t.

I thought he’d be totally repulsed by my fantasy – after all, is getting tied down in a doctor’s office and being given a painful examination the kind of thing that normal women dream about? But, if anything, he looked intrigued. He asked me questions; probed my fantasy in greater detail.

“You are very unexpected, Lisa,” he muttered, when I was done. And he reached for me before I could worry about what that meant; he pulled me into his body, and kissed me with passion, as if I hadn’t just told him I wanted him to tie me down in an examination room, and do all kinds of nasty things with me.

As the heat rose in me again, and I moved over his body, reached for a condom to roll on to his beautiful, hard cock, it struck me that I actually liked this guy.

A nice guy who wasn’t repulsed by my dark fantasies? This could be very, very good.